“But wouldn’t he sell them to give his son a medical education?”
“I doubt it. Ojeeg can go into the bush in January and sleep on the ground, but when he comes into his house, he seals the windows and huddles over the stove. When his dearest child was very low with tuberculosis, he brought the jossakeed and let the old fool treat her by incantations. The girl of course died, and Ojeeg’s faith in doctors died with her.”
“Might not his wife or his mother help me?”
“They would if they could, but they have no influence. I have known his mother half a century. She was a very fine woman in her youth. I remember—”
The doctor stopped short. His old blue eyes turned a little to the west, as if seeking out some spot on the water.
“Marvin, your family name is Celtic for Bear. In the days of Agricola your folks were the Orsini of Britain. Now the Bear is sacred to the Ojibway, and especially sacred to the Crane totem. Address the old woman as the Bright River, and tell her that, being a Bear, you have come for your fish.” Marvin laughed outright at this sudden access of craftiness in a man who adored infinite honesty.
“I’ll obey orders, sir, but suppose the charm fails to work?”
“In that case,” said the old man, drawing the bit of haircloth from his pocket, “give her this and say that I should be glad if you might own Keego.”
“No other message?”
“No.”